Someone Else
by Center of the Galaxy
Summary: "Now, Castiel, really." Sam's voice chides, singsong and dripping with venom. "Didn't anyone ever teach you not to break things that aren't yours?" Dread settles in the pit of his vessel's stomach and Castiel immediately knows that something is terribly wrong. This isn't Sam that stands before him." *post "Road Trip", possessed!Sam, hurt!Sam, awesome!Castiel, two-shot*
1. Without You

_**Author's Note: **__Spoilers for "Road Trip". I hope you enjoy this piece!_

* * *

"_And I'd fight for you_

_I'd lie, it's true_

_Give my life for you_

_You know I'd always come for you."_

—_Nickelback, "I'd Come For You"_

* * *

The Impala's taillights are nothing more than a distant red speck on the road that seems to stretch endlessly out into the horizon. The night is eerily silent, save for the rumble of a few car engines, and the cold is biting and sharp. A cloud passes over the yellow moon, blocking what little natural light exists.

To say that the night has yielded nothing but trouble is an understatement.

Sam stands in front of him, shivering. His gaze is devoid of any hint of warmth, any trace of emotion. Grimacing in pain, he watches his older brother finally disappear out of sight. How he's still standing—grace or no grace—remains to be seen. The damage he's suffered—both because of the aftereffects of the trials as well as Gadreel's hasty exit—is extensive to say the least. He should be in a hospital, hooked up to a thousand different monitors and getting a healthy dose of oxygen. Instead, he's here, watching his brother fade from view.

"Shit." Sam swears finally, voice barely above a whisper. He runs a hand through his hair, sighing. His body begins to list and immediately, the angel moves to support his friend's body. Sam's skin is clammy to the touch and his heart beats out of rhythm.

"Sam?" Castiel asks, though he falters. What's happened tonight with Dean, what's been happening in Sam's own body—the angel doesn't know where to begin. All he can do now is stay by the youngest brother's side and hope that his presence will help stop the pain somehow.

"He's gone." Sam mutters. "He actually left." He barks out a laugh, bitter. "He's never . . . we've never . . ." His voice fades and his wide-eyed gaze comes to rest on the angel's face. "I killed Kevin, Cas."

And the heart within his vessel breaks for this man—no, this broken boy—that's barely holding himself upright in front of him. Castiel wants nothing more than to shelter him from the world and patch him back up again.

"Sam, you didn't—" He protests, only for Sam to hold his hand up for silence.

"Just . . ." The man's voice before him is strangled, rough and laced with such an acute pain that it actually hurts to hear him speak. "Don't, Cas." He rubs absently at his chest, at where his tattoo used to be and the angel nearly sighs in relief because healing the physical pain is something well within his power. It's something he knows how to do with skill.

"We must return to the bunker." He tries to summon a commanding tone, something that will spur Sam into wanting to take care of himself. But seeing the grief in Sam's eyes, his own voice falters, grows pleading, "You need to rest, Sam."

For the longest time, there is silence.

"I need to get some air." He finally says, barely above a whisper.

"We are outside—" The angel begins.

"Five minutes." Sam sighs raggedly. "Just once around the block." He gestures vaguely to the road, to the sidewalk that lies alongside it.

"You need medical attention—" Castiel protests, because the idea of Sam facing this alone, of being alone in this troubling time, terrifies him. He's failed the youngest Winchester before—the broken wall fiasco springs to his mind—but he refuses to fail now. He will take care of Sam; he will keep him safe.

He won't let Sam down now, not when he needs Castiel the most.

"Five minutes." Sam repeats, an unspoken plea evident in his tone.

The majority of the angel wants to argue, to drag Sam to the car and drive as fast as they can back to the bunker where Castiel can protect him from the cruel forces of Heaven, Hell and all manner in-between.

But . . . it's clear that Sam needs this time, to clear his head, to process all the information that's been hurled at him.

"Five minutes." Castiel acquiesces, forcing himself to stay rooted to that one spot as Sam begins to move to the sidewalk, begins to become a speck in the darkness. Once the youngest Winchester is out of view, he curses under his breath, like Dean does.

"Four minutes and counting." The angel sighs.

But for Sam, he will wait as long as it takes.

He's not going anywhere.

* * *

Sam's hands are shaky on the wheel.

They've only been driving for ten minutes but it's obvious that the youngest Winchester is having a hard time focusing on the task at hand. Every few minutes, he lifts a hand from the wheel and pinches the bridge of his nose, seeking relief from whatever pain plagues him.

"Migraine?" Castiel ventures and Sam nods.

"Feels like someone is digging into my skull." He practically hisses, once again trying to get rid of the ache. "Fuck."

"I apologize." The angel murmurs. "I can only heal you in stages—"

Sam waves off his concerns.

"It's fine."

Silence.

None of this is really fine though. Kevin's dead, Dean's gone and Sam's functioning on the heavenly equivalent of a patch job and they're still 30 minutes away from the bunker. The angel frowns.

Dean would know what to say to get Sam to give up the wheel and allow someone else to drive. Dean would know how to get his brother to stop feeling guilty for a death that he had nothing to do with. If Dean were here—

But Dean isn't here; Castiel is and that will have to do.

"Sam."

"What?" The tone burns, frustration practically dripping from the word.

"Let me drive."

"Drive?" Sam echoes, dumbstruck. "Cas, you don't know how to—"

"Dean's taught me, should the need arise." They run a stop sign and the minivan trying to cross the intersection honks at them in reply. "Sam, pull over."

"I can do this."

Castiel spares himself from another argument and reaches for the wheel.

"Cas, stop—"

The car comes to rest on the shoulder.

"Sam, you need rest." He unbuckles his seatbelt. "Let me drive." Then, even softer, "Please."

"Fine." Sam grumbles, unbuckling and opening the driver's door. Castiel mirrors him and within seconds, they're back on the road once more. "Since when have you known how to drive?"

"Since the Apocalypse." The angel confesses. "Dean thought it best to learn just in case I was unable to teleport to you two." He smiles brightly. "It seems to have come in handy now."

"Yeah." Sam's eyes begin to droop and he forces them back open.

"I'll be okay should you wish to rest."

"Cas . . ." He waits to hear a reply, but Sam shakes his head instead. "Just . . . thank you."

"You do not have to thank me for my assistance, Sam." The angel replies softly. "You are my friend and as such, I'm glad to help you."

He glances over to look at the youngest Winchester to add something else, but Sam is already asleep. Castiel smiles softly, pleased that Sam is finally getting some rest.

They'd be at the bunker soon and Castiel could begin to piece Sam back together again. Once Sam's health was no longer a concern, he'd try to help the two brothers reconcile. It wouldn't be easy—both were stubborn and both had valid points—but they needed each other. But first, he'd take care of the youngest Winchester.

"Rest well, Sam."

One battle at a time, after all.

* * *

Once they reach the bunker, Sam sleeps soundly.

His rest is untroubled, free of any nightmares. It seems that for once, the youngest Winchester's mind is blissfully blank, allowing his body to take its much-needed time to recuperate. It's odd really, to see the often-troubled man before him actually sleeping peacefully. Odd, but Castiel is grateful for this small miracle. Sam's body is broken, barely functioning, and he would require as much rest as he could get.

Dean still hasn't called and Castiel's own message has gone unreturned. He doesn't know what exactly is running through the elder Winchester's head, but if there is one thing the angel has learned, it's that Winchesters are stubborn and they could hold a grudge for what seemed like an eternity. Until Dean is ready to deal with the situation at hand, the angel can expect more unreturned calls.

Which, for right now, is okay. Sam is sleeping and Castiel has the watch. Nothing will happen to the youngest Winchester now, not while he is here standing guard. For once, they'd caught a break.

He rises from the chair in the corner of the room and leaves Sam to his rest. He's only been at the bunker a few times and he wants to make sure all the sigils are correct and up to date. The boys have added angel proofing, but perhaps Castiel can add a few more just to be safe.

He moves quickly through the bunker, scanning the area for any sigils that need to be improved upon. He checks each room thoroughly, making sure that any doors leading to the outside are firmly secured. This is how he stumbles upon it—

Kevin's room.

He knows, logically, of course that Kevin has died. He understands what happened, knows exactly how the young prophet hadn't stood a chance, but seeing the bedroom now fills the angel with a grief he didn't know he harbored.

The bed is unmade, sheets rumpled, like someone just got out of it and would return to it soon. The walls are bare, but the bookshelf is filled with various comic books, technology guides and a few DVD's strewn in. On the desk, a framed picture of Mrs. Tran and Kevin beams at him next to an open Bible. He leans in and sees the page Kevin had been reading about contained a bit of information on prophets. On the bedside table, there is a note from Dean, informing the prophet to "stop being a fucking hermit and come eat some dinner with us". It brings a small smile to the angel's lips—this is Dean's way of showing that he cares after all.

But Kevin won't be coming back to eat dinner.

Kevin is dead.

This is all he left behind; all the world would ever know about Kevin Tran is contained in this room. No one would know about the sacrifices he made, living a life he never wanted. No one would understand what he lost along the way or how he suffered. Soon, even the memories will fade and those who knew him would wonder years later who exactly that boy had been in their high school classes, the AP student who'd been on his way to a prestigious school and a life full of success. They'd struggle for a name to put to the fuzzy image in their mind, until they'd finally shrug and give up, thinking it no longer important. Thus, Kevin Tran would die once more.

But Castiel will remember and that will have to do.

He closes the door behind him, sealing away the sadness for the moment.

* * *

"Hey, Cas." Sam greets him the next morning, voice hoarse and dry. He rubs his eyes and practically collapses into the dining room chair.

"Good morning, Sam." The angel greets, frowning somewhat. "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap." The Winchester replies, pinching the bridge of his nose. "My head won't stop pounding."

"Perhaps, I can help with—" But as he comes to stand next to Sam, the younger brother flinches. "Sam?"

"Sorry." Sam flashes him a bright grin as he stands up from the chair. "I'm just a bit jumpy . . . you know, angels and stuff."

"Of course." Cas nods, but he doesn't believe the words coming out of Sam's mouth. Though he could understand Sam's hesitance over accepting an angel's help, he should know Castiel better than that. He treasures Sam's friendship and though he's committed a few grievous errors in judgment when it came to the youngest Winchester, he would risk doing so now.

"I just need some air." Sam mutters, moving towards the hallway.

"Sam, wait—"

But the footsteps echo in the hallway and then a door slams shut.

Leaving Castiel to wonder just what exactly has happened.

* * *

Hours pass with no word from Sam.

Knocks on his door go unanswered as well as various meals that the angel prepares—quite well, actually, during his time as a human he did excel at cooking—leaving Castiel to wonder what exactly he should do. Sam would need his next treatment soon or his body would begin to shut down, the damage from Gadreel and the trials still too much for his own body to heal on its own. He doesn't understand why Sam is doing this—perhaps the stress of the past few days, perhaps the misplaced guilt of Kevin's death—but regardless of the reason, he has to get through to Sam.

"Sam." He knocks on the door once more, insistent. "Sam, you need your next treatment."

There's no reply. He tries to turn the knob, but it's locked.

"Sam, please."

Still nothing.

"Fine. I shall not be held responsible for my next actions then." He takes a step back, and then charges into it, bursting it open. "Sam?"

The youngest Winchester rises from his bed, a malicious grin spreading on his lips.

"Now, Castiel, really." His voice chides, singsong and dripping with venom. "Didn't anyone ever teach you not to break things that aren't yours?"

Dread settles in the pit of his vessel's stomach and he immediately knows that something is terribly wrong. This isn't Sam that stands before him. How could he not see the signs earlier?

"Who are you?" Castiel hisses, summoning the full power of his grace. Instantly, the heavenly light fills the room, illuminating every crevice and banishing the darkness. The thing in Sam shrinks back in pain, but its coal black eyes immediately glare at the angel's.

"Surely now, you recognize the Queen of Hell."

"Abaddon." The grace consumes him now. He can feel it entering every part of his vessel's body, feel it embracing him as comforting as a mother's warm arms. "You will perish—"

"Now, now," Abaddon murmurs, a smirk on twisting Sam's visage into a grotesque parody of what his smile normally looks like. "You drive me out and you'll kill Sam."

That gives him a moment's pause.

"I'm the only thing keeping precious Sammy alive, you understand?" Abaddon shouts, over the din of the grace swirling around in the room. "I know what he's been through, I've seen his memories! Do you think he can survive two exorcisms in his already fragile condition?"

And though it pains him to admit, Abaddon is right. Sam was barely on his feet after Gadreel and he hadn't had enough treatments in order to repair the previous damage. Getting rid of the demon would be the straw that broke the camel's back. Sam would never survive it.

It's a stalemate.

He lets go of his direct connection to Heaven. The warmth and grace leaves him and his cerulean eyes meet the inky dark ones that currently occupy his friend's face.

"When?" He growls and she chuckles, darkly.

"I've had eyes on those two boys forever. When I heard Sam's damn anti-possession tattoo was gone, it was almost too easy." She brushes past him, leaning in to his ear, voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes, all you need is five minutes."

Castiel grips her arm and she laughs, loud and boisterous.

"Careful there, angel." She narrows her gaze. "Wouldn't want you to damage this fine packaging any more."

"I will not allow you to possess Sam." He snaps. "Release him!"

"You are not in a position to be giving me orders!" She retorts. "I can kill Sam at any moment, you understand me?" She uncurls his hand from Sam's arm. Then smirking, she adds, "Face it, angel. You've lost. Big time."

That's when she knocks him out.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **The final part is already written and will be up very soon! Let me know what you guys think if you have a moment. Thanks! _


	2. For You

_**Author's Note: **Thank you for all the kind words! Please enjoy this chapter! _

* * *

He comes to in an eerily silent bunker.

A quick glance on the clock reminds him that he's been unconscious twenty minutes too long and he's immediately up. He doesn't suffer the same after effects that humans do after a head injury, but he's lost valuable time. He needs to get a lead on Abaddon and get her contained back here.

Exiting Sam's room, he sprints to the phone in the library, punching in the number he knows by heart. Dean, predictably, doesn't answer. He's still brooding, the angel supposes, still unwilling to face his problems with his brother.

"Dean, Sam's been possessed by Abaddon. We cannot exorcise her without causing too much damage to Sam's body, which will kill him. I shall endeavor to get him secured back at the bunker and—"

The line goes dead.

He hangs up and resolves that she must still be here somewhere. After all, the bunker housed numerous pieces of lore as well as supernatural weapons. She'd be a fool not to take some with her and with access to Sam's memories—

"Looking for someone?" A Scottish voice inquires smoothly and Castiel turns to see Crowley leaning causally against the wall, an unconscious Sam on the floor. The angel tenses, prepares himself for a battle, but Crowley instantly places his hands out, placating. "Relax, would you? If I wanted to kill you or him, I would have done so already." He winces somewhat. "Besides, you know how power I had to use to get into this bloody place? Damn sigils are everywhere—"

"What are you doing here?" The angel questions, brow furrowing. Crowley's newfound compassion is confusing to say the least and he isn't quite sure if it's genuine, but right now, it no longer matters.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Crowley shrugs easily. "Now, it seems Moose has gotten himself into quite the pickle."

"He was an easy target after Gadreel," Castiel grimaces, running a hand through his vessel's hair, a nervous tick that he's picked up from being around the brothers for so long. "We were only apart for five minutes—"

"I don't need to hear the sob story." The King of Hell mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He gestures to Sam. "Let's get him secured and then we'll discuss options."

"You are . . . aiding me?" The angel mutters, partly hesitant and partly perplexed at the demon's behavior.

"You misunderstand me." He states flatly. "I'm doing this to spite that bitch who thinks she can replace me." Crowley smirks slightly, a devilish gleam entering his eyes. "Plus, who knows when I'll need to call in a favor?"

Castiel chooses to ignore his remark and reaches for Sam instead, hauling the man up and supporting his weight.

"We haven't much time." The angel mutters, sensing the demon within Sam already beginning to stir, trying to exert its will once more. "How'd you even know that—?"

"I have my sources." The King replies bluntly before turning and heading towards the dungeon.

Castiel doesn't have time to question his motives and just follows him down.

* * *

"Well, well," Sam—or more accurately—Abaddon greets with a twisted smile as she regains consciousness, chained to the chair in the middle of the devil's trap. "Crowley, I'd say it was a surprise to see you here, but we all know that you have a soft spot for these two." She tilts Sam's head to the side and chuckles lightly. "You really want to be the third brother, don't you? Join them on their stupid hunts? Listen to their awful music?" She leans forwards, almost conspiratorially. "Have heart to heart moments on the hood of their crappy car?" Leaning back, she tosses her head back and laughs. "You've gone soft, Crowley! Anyone could see—"

A cup of holy water is tossed at her and she hisses in pain as the water bubbles and boils the skin, turning it bright red.

"Now, now," Crowley chides. "Watch that tongue of yours."

"I'll kill him." Abaddon threatens. "I could stop his heart right now—"

"Do it and you shall perish immediately after!" Castiel threatens, his temper flaring out of check.

"Come now, darling," The King of Hell smirks. "You're out of your depth here."

"Am I?" Abaddon challenges. "Do you really want to chance poor Sammy's life on that?" She pauses a moment and then grins, wide and bright. "You can't even get rid of me, can you? Not without breaking poor little Sam for good?"

"You underestimate me then." Crowley retorts.

"What are you going to do? You—"

More holy water goes flying, splashing Sam's skin.

"Whoops." Crowley shrugs, listening to Abaddon cry out in alarm.

"We will find a way to stop you and save Sam." Castiel promises. "Make no mistake of that."

In the chair, Abaddon just begins to chuckle, skin burnt and eyes coal black.

* * *

Three hours later and they are no closer to finding a way to free Sam without killing him.

Abaddon sits in the chair, weary, injured from repeated exposure from holy water, but still very much in control of Sam.

"Tell me something," Abaddon slurs, through cracked and bloody lips. "How long do you two plan on playing the odd couple here?" Her gaze meets theirs. "You can't win—"

"Oh, just shut up, would you?" Crowley mutters as he flips a few pages from one of the ancient Latin texts, searching for some way to free his enemy from his current nemesis. What is the saying again, the enemy of an enemy is a friend? Well, in this case, it rings true. Still, he never imagined that he would ever be in this situation. It's surprising to say the least.

"Sam will die, a death that will be long and excruciating and you two shall—"

The door bursts open, the sound of dangling keys echoes in down the hall. Footsteps quickly grow louder and immediately, the dungeon door is flung open. Dean Winchester stands in the doorway; gaze hard and unyielding as it comes to rest on his brother's face.

"Well," Crowley begins breezily. "About damn time you showed up."

"Sammy?" Dean tries, taking a step towards his chained up brother and Abaddon smirks.

"Hello there, Dean." The would-be Queen chuckles. "Let's get this party started then, shall we?"

The eldest Winchester is not amused.

"Bitch, you are going to pay—" Dean hisses and if looks could kill, Abaddon would have died ten times over already.

"Save it!" Abaddon snaps. "I'm in control here! Get rid of me and Sam will die!"

Dean glances to the angel, eyes pooling with fear and worry, needing confirmation that what she's saying is true.

"I was unable to heal enough of Sam's previous injuries before Abaddon came. We've searched nearly all the texts here and cannot find a way to remove her without doing a full exorcism." Castiel confesses, ashamed of his own failings, of letting Sam walk away when he needed help. He should've done something—

"It's okay, Cas." Dean says softly, placing a hand on the angel's shoulder. He then looks over Crowley. "If you help us, she's all yours."

"That's why I'm here." Crowley chuckles.

"Well, that's just peachy." Abaddon laughs hoarsely. "Look at you! You're just like the three musketeers." Her coal black eyes come to rest on Dean. "Too bad you're too late, Dean." She raises her voice, nearly shouting. "Sam is going to die and there's nothing you can do—!"

Crowley lazily tosses some more water at her, effectively cutting off whatever she was about to say.

"Dean," Crowley starts, glancing up from one of the many ancient texts spread out on the small table. "There's no way to get rid of her without fully exorcising her."

"We could seal her away," Castiel suggests. "Until Sam gets healthier and then we could expel her."

"No," Dean shakes his head. "Sam would never forgive me."

"So what then?" Crowley mutters. "We just sit here and listen to her bitch and moan?"

There's a pause as Dean contemplates something in his mind. After a moment, he smiles softly, gaze alighting on his brother's face.

"No," He finally says. "We do what Sam would want us to do."

"What does that—" Crowley begins, but he's cut off a few seconds later.

"Exorcisamus te, omnes in mundus spiritus." Dean begins and Abaddon's gaze widens. It's clear she's never factored this possible scenario into her battle plan. Then again, Dean Winchester is nothing but unpredictable.

"What are you doing?" She shouts, slight alarm coloring her voice. "You'll kill him!"

"Dean, are you sure?" Castiel questions. "Abaddon has a valid point." He knows how much Dean values his brother's life—his enemies knew it too. That's what made this course of action somewhat odd.

"I ignored Sam's wishes once," The eldest Winchester says, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm not doing it again." Glancing at the angel he adds, "Just be ready to heal him."

"Of course." The angel nods.

The eldest Winchester's steely gaze locks back onto the demon wheezing in the chair.

"Omnes satanica potestas, omnes incursion."

"It won't work!" Abaddon manages to get out through clenched teeth as she begins to writhe in pain. "You'd kill your own brother?"

Dean doesn't respond and just continues the exorcism.

It goes fast after that.

Abaddon does her best to remain in control, but not even she is immune to exorcism and within a few minutes, Sam throws his head back and black smoke escapes from his lips. He goes boneless after that, limp and unmoving.

"Sam!" Dean cries, ready to rush to his brother's aid.

"Wait." Crowley pulls him back, a hand restraining him from moving. "Just to be sure."

The youngest Winchester remains unmoving; his chest not rising or falling. There's no discernable trace of the demon in the air. She's been expelled.

Crowley releases him and immediately Dean rushes to his brother's side. He unchains him and Sam's body lists forwards, leaning against his brother.

"Sammy?" Dean calls out, hands seeking out a pulse on his neck. "Sam, can you hear me?" With wide eyes, his head spins around to meet Castiel's cerulean gaze. "He has no pulse."

Castiel kneels beside Sam and places two fingers to the youngest Winchester's neck. He wills his grace to work, to fill every pore of Sam's being and spur his heart back to life.

Seconds tick by; they feel like an eternity.

Finally, thankfully, Sam gasps, eyes opening.

"D'n?" He slurs, voice hoarse, tone confused, as if he's unsure what he's seeing is real.

"I'm here, Sammy." The older brother beams, grin as bright as the sun and Castiel steps back, allowing them their privacy.

"All's well that ends well." Crowley remarks. He points towards the door. "I'll see myself out if you don't mind."

Then he's gone, the smell of sulfur lingering in the air.

Castiel just smiles.

* * *

"You're leaving."

He catches Dean at the front door. Sheepishly, the eldest Winchester turns around to face the angel.

"Sam's okay so—" He begins, shrugging.

"Sam needs you, Dean." Castiel protests. "Surely, you will not insist upon being stubborn—"

"When Sam wakes up, he won't even remember what happened!" Dean snaps. Then, jabbing a finger in the angel's direction, he tacks on, "You said that he was too out of it to really process it anyways."

"Just because he will not remember it does not negate the fact that it did, in fact, happen." The Heavenly Messenger argues. "I shall tell him and Sam will want you—"

"To what, Cas?" Dean challenges, voice rising. "To apologize for saving his damn life? For making another fucked up choice?"

"Sam will want you by his side." Castiel says softly instead. "You two are family. Sam's been through an ordeal and he needs you."

"Not me." Dean chuckles mirthlessly, shaking his head. "You can take care of him, Cas. You do a better job than I can anyways." He opens the door, begins to make for the car.

"Dean, wait!"

But the door slams in his face, effectively ending the argument.

* * *

"How are you feeling?" He asks Sam the next morning.

"Better, actually." The youngest Winchester mutters, taking a sip of his black coffee. "Hard to believe I got possessed yesterday."

"Yes, well . . ."

Awkward silence.

"I called him, you know." Sam offers softly. "He didn't pick up."

"He's just being stubborn." Castiel replies with a tired grin. Rising from the chair, he places a hand on Sam's shoulder, offering his strength and support. "He will return."

"I know." Sam murmurs.

"Until then, you know that I shall be here, should you require my aid."

At that, the youngest Winchester beams, bright and beautiful.

"I know, Cas, and I appreciate it."

And as they sit there, in comfortable silence, Castiel can't help but think that this where he was always meant to be. The Winchesters made him more than a foot soldier in Heaven's army. They made him feel and experience the joys and sorrows of life here on Earth. They made him appreciate what his Father had created all those years ago. But most of all, they made him—

"What are you smiling about?" Sam questions, smirking.

"Nothing." He replies, smiling still. "Nothing at all."

The Winchesters made him human.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__This piece totally kicked my butt. The first few drafts I wrote, I hated and now I finally am done. I'm so happy with this story! I hope you are too. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks! _


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